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Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503–42). The Poetical Works. 1880.


A Description of the Sorrow of true Lovers’ parting

THERE was never nothing more me pain’d,

Nor more my pity mov’d,

As when my sweetheart her complain’d,

That ever she me lov’d.

Alas! the while!

With piteous look she said, and sight,

‘Alas! what aileth me?

To love, and set my wealth so light,

On him that loveth not me;

Alas! the while!

‘Was I not well void of all pain,

When that nothing me griev’d?

And now with sorrows I must complain,

And cannot be reliev’d,

Alas! the while!

‘My restful nights, and joyful days,

Since I began to love

Be take from me; all thing decays,

Yet can I not remove,

Alas! the while!’

She wept and wrung her hands withal,

The tears fell in my neck:

She turned her face, and let it fall;

And scarce therewith could speak:

Alas! the while!

Her pains tormented me so sore

That comfort had I none,

But cursed my fortune more and more

To see her sob and groan,

Alas! the while!